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Updated: June 17, 2025
"No, you won't," said he. "You won't do what you think best. Take it from me, you won't. What I told you wasn't my secret. It's poor Tira's. If you give her away to your mother good God! think of it, Milly, with her expensive modern theories and her psychiatry got it right, that time! muddling up things for a woman like her!
He plunged into the turmoil of Tira's affairs, foreign to him so short a time ago and yet his. "She's the wife of the man who bought the old Frye place, next to yours. He's jealous of her, has fits of insane rage against her and she has to get out. One day I found her hiding up here in the woods. I told her, whenever she had to make tracks to come here to the hut, and build a fire and stay.
"Jack," said Dick, this morning in the hut it was as if he had to speak "what are you getting this place ready for, and breaking out the back road? You don't need to come up here, in weather like this. If you do, you've got your snowshoes. What the deuce are you breaking out for?" Raven stood a moment looking down at Tira's fire. It seemed a sacred pile, consecrated to holy use.
It was Tira's chair, and Tira herself appeared from the door opposite, leading from the kitchen, crossed the room, took the scarf and wrapped it about her shoulders and sat down. She had been called out, perhaps in response to a cry from the child who seemed to be the center of commotion in this house, though so mysteriously inactive.
Dinah herself, now a well-grown damsel, black, but comely, who, during Cornelia's maladministration, had been suffered to follow too much the devices and desires of her own heart, setting at naught alike the entreaties and reproofs of her mistress and her mother's angry scoldings, even Dinah submitted without a murmur to Tira's wholesome authority, and abandoned all her evil courses.
It's your own affair, says she, 'and you a'n't compelled to give unless you're a mind to. 'You should have thought of that before you twitted me, says I, 'before all this company. 'Oh, Tira, never mind, says Miss Bramhall, 'let it all go! But up spoke your Aunt Eunice, and says she, 'It's no more than fair to hear Tira's reasons, after what's been said."
Nearly every day he and Nan had a word about her, and often he saw Nan going "up along" and knew she was, in the uneasiness of no news, bent on walking past the house, if only for a glance at the windows and the sight of Tira's face. Three times within a few weeks Tenney had driven past, and each time Nan, refusing Dick's company, hurried up the road.
Also she owned that her great reason for believing in Tira's endurance was that Tira was not alone. She had, like Old Crow, her sustaining symbol. She had, whatever the terrifying circumstance of her daily life, divine companionship. She had her Lord, Jesus Christ.
You've got to go into your own house." "What I want," said Tenney, "is a blue apron, blue with white specks. I don't believe it's there, but if 'tis I want it." To Raven, this was not strange. It was Tira's apron he wanted, something that belonged to her, to touch, perhaps to carry about with him as a reminder of the warmth and kindliness that lay in everything she owned.
Here's another chance for you, don't you see? We're in a nasty hole, Tira and incidentally Nan and I. Play the game, old son, and help us out." "What," inquired Dick, "do you expect me to do?" "Chiefly," said Raven, "keep out. It's my game and Nan's and Tira's. But you play yours. Don't sulk. Show her what a noble Red Man you can be."
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